


my heart cries out for your heart

by sara_wolfe



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-23 11:14:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20241925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sara_wolfe/pseuds/sara_wolfe
Summary: Crowley pines for Aziraphale. Aziraphale pines for Crowley. Neither of them knows how to talk about their feelings.





	my heart cries out for your heart

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Queen's "One Year of Love"

“Oh, he’s not my friend. We’ve never met before.”

Crowley couldn’t help the little wince that crossed his face at Aziraphale’s words. He knew why Aziraphale was rejecting him in front of others, knew it was plausible deniability just in case anyone from either of their sides was watching. But that didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt.

“I think you should get on with the play,” he said, his voice coming out a little sharper than he’d intended, but Aziraphale didn’t call him on his tone. 

Didn’t call him out for the way he moved a step or two away, either, which might have hurt worse than his words. It was stupid of him, Crowley knew, but he wanted Aziraphale to want to be with him just as much as he wanted to be with Aziraphale. He wanted the closeness, the casual intimacy they’d enjoyed not even a hundred years ago. He wanted more, so much more than this polite, careful distance between them, these too-short meetings where they pretended not to know each other for the sake of bosses that might not even be watching. 

But he didn’t say any of this to Aziraphale. For one thing, he didn’t even know if Aziraphale wanted to be closer to him, wanted more of a relationship than their tentative alliance. For another, he wasn’t sure just what he’d do if the answer was no.

* * *

“Friends? We’re not friends!” Aziraphale regretted the words the second they left his lips, but he couldn’t stop himself. Not now, not when there was so much at stake. “We are an angel and a demon. We have nothing whatsoever in common.” He hesitated for the briefest second then plunged on, delivering what was likely to be the killing blow. “I don’t even like you!”

“You do!” Crowley’s words were confident, but there were lines around his eyes that even his sunglasses couldn’t hide, lines that Aziraphale knew from long experience indicated pain. Aziraphale hated himself for putting those lines there. 

Not enough to stop, though. He kept going, said things designed to drive Crowley further and further away. He had to, he told himself. He had to protect Crowley however he could, even if it meant he never spoke to Aziraphale again. 

If he reached the right people, stopped the Apocalypse before it began, then he’d find Crowley and apologize, spend as much time as he needed making up for everything he said. But if he couldn’t stop it, if the world was doomed to end, then at least he’d done what he could to make sure Crowley was safe.

“We’re on our side!” Crowley insisted, the desperate tone in his voice stabbing Aziraphale straight in the heart. 

“There is no ‘our side’, Crowley,” Aziraphale told him, forcing a coldness into his words, tried to keep his voice from cracking. “Not anymore. It’s over.”

Perhaps forever, if he truly succeeded in driving Crowley away. And the thought made him want to cry.

* * *

_“Yeah, it’s not a good time. Got an old friend here.”_

His last words to Aziraphale kept ringing over and over in Crowley’s mind like an accusation. The last words he’d ever speak to his best friend, and he’d blown him off, abandoned him by hanging up the phone. And now Aziraphale was dead, and it was all his fault. 

If only he’d picked up that call, maybe he’d have known Aziraphale was in trouble. Maybe he’d have gotten to the bookshop in time to save him. Maybe he’d still be alive right now. Maybe, maybe, maybe…

His eyes stinging with tears he wouldn’t let himself shed, Crowley poured himself another glass of whiskey from the bottle he’d nicked from behind the bar. He tossed back the shot, the alcohol burning a fiery trail all the way down. Crowley welcomed the pain. 

“Did you know, Agnes?” he demanded, of the charred book he was still holding in his arms. “Did you know I was going to lose him?”

The book, predictably, had no answer for him. Or maybe it did, and Crowley was just too much of a coward to open the pages and look. Bad enough that he’d failed Aziraphale just when he needed him the most, but to have there in black and white, indelible proof that he could have saved Aziraphale if he’d just been better - well, he wouldn’t have to wait for the Apocalypse to destroy him, he’d find the Heavenly Host and throw himself on their swords. 

It was the least of what he deserved.

* * *

“Changed my mind. Stuff happened. I lost my best friend.”

Aziraphale couldn’t see Crowley, but he heard the unmistakable sound of pain and heartbreak in his voice. Crowley sounded near tears, something that Aziraphale couldn’t remember ever happening before in all of six thousand years - whoever this friend was that Crowley lost, they must have been someone incredibly special. 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Faint sentiment, and hardly adequate when what he really wanted was to be able to fold Crowley into his arms, to hold him and grieve with him, to do what he could to ease his pain. 

But as much as he longed to comfort Crowley, they had an Apocalypse to stop first. Once they stopped the world from ending, then he would be able to take care of Crowley.

* * *

Nearly twenty-four hours after the would-be Apocalypse, Crowley trailed after Aziraphale into the bookshop. He couldn’t hold back a shiver as he stepped through the doorway; even though he’d seen it perfectly restored that morning, he could still see the flames engulfing the bookshelves, feel the heat blistering against his skin. But he kept going, step by step, trailing his fingers along the book spines to remind himself that everything was still here. 

Aziraphale was still here, too, even if Crowley didn’t allow himself the luxury of reaching out and touching him to reassure himself. He curled his hands into fists to avoid even the temptation. 

The sign on the door remained closed and the lights remained off as he and Aziraphale went upstairs to the sitting room upstairs. The bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen may have been drastically underutilized in Crowley’s opinion, but they’d spent night after night in the sitting room, sharing in each other’s company over copious amounts of alcohol. Crowley could feel himself relaxing a bit as he thought of a few thousand more years doing more of the same. 

“What’s your pleasure?” he asked, taking it on himself to get glasses and peruse Aziraphale’s extensive collection of liquor. He could have miracled something up, certainly would have been faster, but conjured alcohol always had a bitter aftertaste. Better to go with the real thing.

“Oh, whatever you’re having, my dear,” Aziraphale told him, from where he was relaxing in his favorite overstuffed chair. “Oh, it’s been a long day, hasn’t it?”

“Too long,” Crowley agreed. 

He’d thought for so long that all he wanted was one more glimpse of Heaven, but he’d seen more than enough to last him til the end of his very long existence and beyond. Now all he wanted was Earth, and the life he’d built for himself with Aziraphale. And with enough alcohol in his system, maybe the courage to ask for what he really wanted. 

With that in mind, he miracled up a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries; food didn’t have the same aftertaste as alcohol when created out of thin air, and they were Aziraphale’s favorite after-dinner indulgence. 

“Here you are,” he said, presenting Aziraphale with his liquor and his strawberries with an elaborate flourish, and Aziraphale’s eyes lit up when he saw the treat. 

“Oh, you spoil me!” he said, beaming up at Crowley.

Crowley was suddenly grateful that the low lighting in the room hid the blush that covered his cheeks. “What are friends for?” he mumbled, sitting down on the couch and taking a hefty swallow of his own drink to keep from saying more. 

There was a tense silence from Aziraphale’s direction, and Crowley looked up to see an unhappy frown twisting Aziraphale’s lips. The whiskey he’d drank turned sour in his stomach and he could feel himself growing cold. 

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, softly, “friends.”

There was a bitter tone to his voice that made Crowley feel small and worthless. Here he’d been foolishly daydreaming of a future with Aziraphale, a future that maybe included things like love and tenderness, but he’d forgotten the most important detail. That he was a demon, and how could he have ever thought for even a second that Aziraphale would love him? He’d convinced himself that Aziraphale had simply been exaggerating when he’d insisted that they weren’t friends, but apparently it had been nothing less than the truth. 

“Yesterday,” Aziraphale went on, “I told you I didn’t like you-”

“You know, I should really be going,” Crowley said, hastily, gripping the arm of the couch with shaking hands as he pushed himself to his feet. “I’ve got to get home, plants to yell at, evil to plan, all sorts of things.” 

If he left now, if he didn’t let Aziraphale finish that sentence, he’d never have to hear him confirm what Crowley had been afraid of for so long - that their Arrangement had been merely that for Aziraphale, that any feelings that existed were solely Crowley’s, that now that the Apocalypse was gone, Aziraphale didn’t want to see him anymore. 

“Please sit down,” Aziraphale said, before Crowley could take even a step toward the door. “Please, I want to tell you-”

He trailed off, but Crowley dropped back into his seat. Apparently there was no escape for him; Aziraphale wanted him to sit and listen to every painful word of his repudiation, and so Crowley would sit and listen. After all this time he could deny Aziraphale nothing, not even his own heartbreak. 

“Yesterday,” Aziraphale said, doggedly, “I said many things to you. Terribly hurtful things. And, Crowley, I am so, so very sorry.”

Crowley didn’t usually blink, but he did now, staring at Aziraphale in astonishment. Of all the things he’d expected Aziraphale to say, this wasn’t it. 

“If I could take back those words, I would,” Aziraphale went on, oblivious to Crowley’s shock. “I never wanted to hurt you, but I thought I had to, to keep you safe, but I was wrong, and I am sorry. If I’d just trusted you, we could have worked together, but I was scared of losing you, Crowley, I love you, and I just couldn’t stand the thought of losing you-”

“You _what_?” Crowley demanded, finally finding his voice. Aziraphale shot him a guilty look, twisting his hands together, anxiously. 

“I know, I’m sorry,” he said, like that was something he had to apologize for. “I understand that you don’t feel the same, and I would never ask you to, and I hope we can at least keep our relationship like it’s been so far, I promise, I’ll be content simply to be your friend-”

Crowley knew from long experience that if he didn’t find a way to shut Aziraphale up, he’d keep rambling until he worked himself up into such a state that he was an anxious wreck for the entire night. So he did the only thing he could think of: he crossed the room to crouch in front of Aziraphale’s chair, leaning forward and pressing his lips chastely, briefly to Aziraphale’s. 

So far as kisses went, it wasn’t one of Crowley’s better attempts. They were both at weird angles, and their noses went all wonky, and he could feel his sunglasses digging into his face. But it served its purpose, Aziraphale cutting himself off mid-sentence to stare down at Crowley in mute shock. 

“…what?”

“Angel,” Crowley said, not even trying to hide the fondness in his voice, “Angel, I love you, too.”

Aziraphale opened and closed his mouth several times, unable to make even the smallest sound. Crowley waited for him to find his voice, reaching out like he’d wanted to for so long and taking Aziraphale’s hands in his. Aziraphale clutched at his hands like he thought Crowley might let him go. 

Crowley was never letting him go.

“I love you,” he repeated, softly, reveling in being able to say the words as much as he wanted. “I’ve loved you for so long, but I was afraid to tell you because I was afraid you wouldn’t feel the same way and I didn’t want to burden you with my feelings, but now I’ll tell you every day if you’ll let me.”

That little bit of alcohol had clearly gone to his head more than he’d thought, but Crowley refused to be embarrassed by his words. What he’d said was nothing less than the truth, and he wasn’t going to take it back. 

“I was afraid to tell you that I love you, too,” Aziraphale finally admitted, tears shining in his eyes. “If Heaven or Hell ever found out - I was terrified that they’d punish you because of my feelings. I couldn’t let you get hurt because of me.”

“Heaven and Hell are behind us, now,” Crowley reassured him, squeezing his fingers gently. “It’s just us, now. You and me, forever.”

“Forever,” Aziraphale echoed, freeing a hand in order to cup Crowley’s jaw in a gentle caress. “I like the sound of that.”


End file.
